Softly Now the Falling Snow
by ShadowedSoulSpirit
Summary: Skyrim was supposed to be saved. The Dragonborn has risen! The Dragonborn will defeat Alduin! No one expected to find the acclaimed Dovahkiin dead on Whiterun's street. What are we supposed to do now? A Skyrim based story. Rated T for possible language, gore, and death.
1. Skyrim's Crumble

**Softly Now the Falling Snow**

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**Prologue: Skyrim's Crumble**

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**A Skyrim story.**

Growing up in the snow laden terrain of Tamerial incases me in the stories of lore. I grew up on the tales; things like the dragons and their priests trapped in an eternal struggle and the wispmothers who snatch children from their beds; the Hammerfell dwellers and the extinction of the dwarves; most important of all, the prophecy of the ages. The very rhyme that states our demise at the hands of the all-powerful dragon Alduin. At a young age, I grasp onto the sliver of hope that a man with a dragon's soul would be born: Dragonborn. But as I grew older, my father insisted the stories were nothing but nonsense. None of it was true. My mother took it to heart and whisked herself into her merchant trade. She had been the one to stay up with me late at night, reading from leather bound books near the candle light. I lived a pretty good life, due to her expertise in the merchant's trade.

The day finally came however that my father's constant nagging came to an end. He, and the rest of us, came to witness the prophecy unfold.

In the shadow of ashes, black wings come unfurled and a roar shatters the darkness. It was Alduin, King of Banes, with a hunger to swallow the world. Helgen fell that dreadful day in a storm of smoldering fires in the wake of Alduin's first assault against a Nord settlement. I never heard another story from my mother again. She had been trading that morning at Helgen no less and died in the blaze like everyone else except for two men; an imperial with relatives from the neighboring settlement of Riverwood and the fabled Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn. Alduin's legend has returned and so has his vanquisher so there is nothing to worry about right?

It didn't take long for the Dragonborn's pride lead him to drunkenness and cockiness soon followed. The next day the Dovahkiin was found sprawled out on the ground, lifeless like the whole town of Helgen. Arcadia attempted pouring so many concoctions into his mouth, but nothing seemed to work. I remember that day almost perfectly. The morning sun was just now pouring over the horizon. I was out early, playing as the town courier to collect a few pieces of gold. The cobble clatters under my feet as I head for the Bannered Mare and its owner Hulda. I was almost there, sprinting past Belathor's as a burst of excitement bursts into my system. There was so many tales going around that the Dragonborn had come to Whiterun at last! My tunic sways in the wind as the debris collects in a cloud that showers on a guard stationed nearby. My bag which is slowly tearing at the seams bounces in time with my movements as I cross the plaza. My hands touch the door, ready to open it and reveal the fabled Dragonborn when I hear a gasp.

I knew who it was. Carlotta Valentina. Spinning around quickly, I feel my back slam into the door, like the force of the shock had knocked me back. Trembling, I stand there as Carlotta motions for guards and other merchants. A body lay in front of her, foaming at the mouth. His face is distorted in some sort of expression of pain, and his sword is drawled beside him. He had been stripped of all valuables he had earned with the title like Dovahkiin. I couldn't believe. The air is sucked from my lungs, making me take in tiny gasps. My legs give out. I find myself sitting in front of the Bannered Mare's entrance, watching as one guard runs into Arcadia's Cauldron, and the other runs for Farengar. Arcadia of course reaches the scene of the crime first, carrying a set of elixirs in her hand. Popping the corks out of each one, she drizzles the contents into his mouth, but to no avail.

"Please move out of my way, I need room to work." Farengar calls from the top of the staircase, using quick strides to reach the bottom and the Dragonborn's body.

Arcadia, Carlotta, and several curious children are knocked out of the court wizard's way, breaking the containers of the alchemist's potions in the process. The liquids run together, forming a black puddle beside the Dovahkiin's helmetless head. A little girl staggers after the wizard, wearing the same heavy material as a mage. It only took one step and she was sent sprawling into the ebony mix. My heart beats speratically in my ears as I manage to form one word that was no louder than Farengar's incantation.

"Alduin…"

I never delivered the letter that day. I fled for my house immediately after. My father question what had happen, but I had already thrown myself into my room. I pound at the pillows, screaming into the sheets, feeling betrayed by the one person I put all my hope in. He disgraced the Nords and all of Skyrim! I tangle myself up, sputtering things I never will repeat. The tears came soon after, drenching my bed in sorrow. My mother and I had believed in the Dragonborn, and now he will forever rot in a grave. The story had finally been proven true and he ruined it! He destroyed the prophecy! The Wheel has to turn on the last Dragonborn! But now he is gone. Alduin will swallow the world!

My father secluded himself after that, muttering things like the stories were actually true. He had found out about the poisoning when he took a trip up to Dragonsreach. He also learned that I had come to witness the lifeless body. He forbade me from couriering ever again, giving me no chance to make money. Food on the table was scarce and many times I sought refuge at my friend's house. My father on the other dinned with fine meals with the Jarl, having been made the new Steward when the other fell ill. I felt more alone than anything. My mother had been one of my best friends. Since she died, my whole life has changed for the worse. Everything has been going in a downhill spiral, leaving me broken in its wake.

This went on for seven years, until my eighteenth birthday rolled in like the spring that melted Skyrim's trademark snow away. There is no point tucked away in the walls of Whiterun anymore.

Alduin is free, the Greybeards are slaughtered, and the Dragon Priests wander the world. It's only a matter of time before all of Tamerial falls. Might as well live life while I can. Not much time remains.

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**Likes? **

**-Soul Spirit-**


	2. My Eighteenth Birthday

**Softly Now the Falling Snow**

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**Chapter One: Eighteenth Birthday**

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**A Skyrim story.**

My eyes open. The coldness streaming in through the cracks creates a heavy draft that makes the air stifling. My blanket is nearly kicked off my bed in a midnight struggle against my dream. My clothes are bunched up around my stomach, exposing the pale skin. Pushing my shirt down harshly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards groan in protest under my weight. I head for the pile of clothes that lies idly by, pulling out a pair of pants. Slipping them on, I search for a vest. Leaving my shirt untucked, I slide the vest through each arm in turn. Stuffing my feet in a pair of boots, I brush my hair in a swoop before pausing for the first time that morning.

_Oh ya. The day._ _The 14__th__ of Rain's Hand._ _My eighteenth birthday._ _Where was my dad? Of course. At the Dragonsreach, playing with the Jarl's children instead of having a toast to a new year with his actual son._ _Brilliant. Best father in the world ladies and gentlemen!_ I scowl him mentally, searching under my bed sheets.

I pull out a slip of paper I have always kept. It was a drawing of a woman. Only her face was present in the portrait. Her big beautiful eyes were captured in bold strokes, with a long neck line and a small button nose. A smile curls her lips in a humorous way that always makes me laugh. I always joked about her smiling. No color graces her prominent features, but I remember each tone perfectly; her creamy skin, her cascading black curls, her young sea blue eyes. My mother looked so young, even after being married and having a child. No sign of age is present. I always found that interesting and in my mind I hoped I could have the same luck as she. Chuckling lightly at the memory, I hide the picture again. If my father found it, he would burn it. He acts like my mother never existed. He drowns himself in expensive Ale and conversations with high up people; like he's someone important too.

_I'll tell you something to set the whole thing straight. I don't care that he's Steward to the Jarl. He is a terrible person, a terrible father, and a God awful Steward. _I think bitterly, stepping out of the comfort of my room.

Due to my father's constant absence, the Breezehome appears bear. The rotting wood has no hope of replacement. It's not like I've learned any trade yet. I would have been a courier if it hadn't been for my father and his late reaction. I could be a merchant, if I wanted. But I guess any job that runs you outside the city is a giant risk you have to be willing to make. Wolves aren't the only danger roaming around Whiterun anymore. There's a whole mess of trouble just waiting. I grab a bottle that wasn't empty and popped the cork off. Taking a good long swig, I allow the liquid to burn my throat before corking the bottle and putting it back.

_Here's to a new year._ I think quietly to myself.

I grab my dagger off the dining table. It was hand crafted something my mother picked up in her travels. She claims it was wielded by a member of the Dark Brotherhood, and gave it to me when I was merely six. There is not a place I won't take it to. Slipping it inside my boot, I go for the door, pulling a key off a nearby hook.

Shutting the door behind me, I lock it and push the key into my pocket. The sun nearly blinds me before it is covered with a thick blanket of clouds. The wind whooshes around me, shaking trees and signs. This is the Skyrim I love. How long will I continue to bask in its beauty? Everyone knows the end of time is near. It's not distant tale no longer. It's all real and nonfictional.

_What now dad? _I mock _Mom was right all along and you took her as a fool. What do you say now?_

I decide not to spend my eighteenth birthday in the sorrows of our broken family. I head instead for Warmaiden's, the farthest thing away in Whiterun from Dragonsreach. I want to put some major distance in-between us. My buckles on my boots click with each step, a drumbeat I've grown accustomed too. The Warmaiden's sign is broken, only hanging by one hook now as the wind takes its toll; it batters the poor sign with its powerful element. I listen to the _clang_ of a hammer against metal, knowing who I need is working already. Heading around the corner I see him. He is hammering away at the heated metal, trying to bend it into an effective battle-axe. His common blacksmith attire is stained with his trade, along with his face. The nearly sunburned skin is exposed at his rolled up his sleeves, his neck, and face. His blond hair frames his face, getting in his obsidian eyes as he works. He spots me with ease, and proceeds to give me a smile. In the process, the war axe begins to melt in his hands. When he manages to pull his hand away, it was too late; the blade was completely ruined.

My best friend is the blacksmith's apprentice. Adrianne, the original blacksmith, was murdered. A wandering Dragon Priest made his way into the city, and killed her in a matter of seconds. It was only by the grace of Talos and Farengar's rune that saved everyone else that day. I'm glad Farengar took that precaution by placing a series of runes at the front gate. Sure it makes leaving hard, but it protects us. Imagine if it hadn't been there. The Breezehome isn't that far from the main gate. I could have been dead in seconds, just like Avenicci.

_You know how I mentioned that there are more than wolves roaming Skyrim these days? The Dragon Priests are one of the dangers. They came out of the chambers they were cursed with eternal undead in and proceed to locate holds under the command of the dragons they once served. This wasn't the first attack. Solitude's Jarl was murdered when they were attacked by three allying Priests. _

"Darn it!" He sighs exasperatedly, chucking the spoiled metal.

"Still can't control that fire of yours magic boy?" I joke.

"I can't help it! I don't mean to set things on fire. It just happens." He defends, sitting the hammer down in order to cross his arms.

"Oh like how Sofie's letter mysteriously burned?"

He huffs in response, recalling the event in question for a few moments. I burst out in laughter at his silence.

"Hey!" He points at me, realizing I had set him up. He ends up chuckling alongside me.

"Nice one Haaki. What's your old pop up to?" He asks.

"Same. Getting drunk with the Jarl."

"I was hoping you were going to say fell off the stairs and landed in the pool." He says, making me crack a smile.

"Too bad he practically never leaves. That would happen if he did." I agree.

"Hey you wanna get a drink at Ysolda's? I know it's your birthday."

"You remembered?" I am surprised. I thought only I knew.

"Of course man. We're practically brothers. Come on, I'll buy you a round." He pulls off his apron, laying it next to his tool-of-the-trade.

Together, we walk to the Bannered Mare. Its business as usual or as usual as it gets. Ysolda is behind the counter, scrubbing hardily as men sing merry song and drink their troubles away. Hulda had been a victim to a random raid a year or two back. The Dark Brotherhood was desperate to say the least. Half of them had been offed by a Dragon Priest, and their leader was gravely injured in the attack. They targeted a bunch of inn for a while, trying to collect enough gold for a few health potions. Hulda died defending Carlotta Valentina and her daughter. Their leader, Astrid I think, died anyway. Now there is only a few remaining.

_See what this world is coming too? _

"Hello Embry, Haaki." Ysolda greets my best friend and me.

"We would like a bottle of Black-Briar mead if you got it." My friend offers up a few coins.

"I'm sorry," She apologizes, "That man over there took all I have left."

We glance over at a table. A man was grinning crazily to himself, consuming bottle after bottle of miscellaneous stuff.

"That's alright Ysolda. I'm sure he'll share." I grab Embry's arm.

"Don't ask." I state plainly.

"It's your birthday Haaki. I'm getting you something whether you like it or not."

He approaches the man, much to my dismay. _He never listens to me!_

"May we borrow a bottle?" My friend asks politely, "We will pay you for your troubles. It's my friend's birthday and I just want to get him a little something."

The man looks up with drunken ladled eyes. His mouth curves into a creepy grin as his crooked fingers curl around my best friend's shirt.

"Sit down. You're friend too," He slurs, pushing my friend into a chair with strength I didn't believe a drunken man possessed, "I need to tell someone."

My friend glances at me and shrugs. I grab a chair, sliding it over so I can sit in-between them, facing the wall. The man's wavy ivory hair was static-like in these conditions. His tattered clothes clung to his body in a fashion that is mostly associated with the poor. But this guy has enough money to buy Ysolda dry. How could he be poor? The man lets bottle roll off the table, chugging the amber liquid down out of another one. He cocks his head at us questioningly, like he had forgotten when we were here. He points a bottle at up accusingly, before he teeters off into another round of laughter.

_This guy is drunk out of his mind. Maybe we should leave. _ I consider, before the man slams the bottle into the table, cracking the bottom of it as he glares at us seriously. It scared the crap out of me, and managed to silence the rest of the place before Mikael started singing a song. The poor bard couldn't play any cherished instruments. Veezara broke the man's arm not only once, but _twice_ during the vicious raid. It's never healed properly since. The man grabs my chin roughly, making me focus solely on him.

"Look at me as I tell you this boy," He snarls, "I'm gonna be killed in a few days for knowing this."

He nearly collapses in a fit of giggles when he removes his hands from my personal bubble. Embry and I look at one another, thinking the same thing. _Let's get out of here._ The man regains his composure as we rise to our feet. Embry starts for the door, but the man ushers us back. I don't move, and neither does he.

"Come on Haaki."

"Wait!" He cries suddenly, "The prophecy! You have to hear something about it!"

"What prophecy?" I question, intrigued now at what the man has to say. Taking a seat, Embry has no other choice but to follow my lead.

"The Wheel will turn upon the last Dragonborn." He quotes, "At this time, when we need him the most." He hiccups occasionally, showing that despite his seriousness, the man is still insanely drunk.

"I've heard it," I nod, "So what about it."

"It clearly states," He bangs his bottle on the table with each word like it was a rattle, "The Wheel WILL turn upon the LAST Dragonborn."

"You're point being?" Embry asked, confused and bored beyond belief.

"That Dragonborn that died was not the last." He chuckles, leaning back on the back two legs of his chair.

"There is still a Dragonborn left!~" He sings before his chair falls back, and he lands on the floor in a mess of empty bottles, a chair and a giggling fit.

My friend looks at the drunken man, dumbfounded by his little song. I understand completely though. The fact makes my eyes go wide. I can't believe it.

_Could there really be another Dragonborn? I mean, I saw his dead body. But what he said makes sense. The Wheel has to turn upon the last Dragonborn. Does that really clarify though that another Dragonborn is present, somewhere in Tamerial? And what if there really was? How would we know for sure?_

A voice drifts into my head, a distant memory filled with a twinge of sweetness. That voice was melodically, filling my mind with folk songs and stories I enjoy to hear. She was a beautiful singer. If she wasn't a merchant, she would have been a bard no doubt. I close my eyes as I listen to the blissful music, tuning out any other sound. The world around me is nothing but a distant universe, as though as I had made a spiritual escape from my body. I begin recall the past snapshot of my life.

"How do you know, how do you know, when the Dragonborn roams the world? He will come at a time when the black wings come unfurled. This is how you will know when the Dragonborn comes. The Dovahkiin's call will release the power from within. His mind ringing shout will bring Alduin to an end. This is how you will know when the Dragonborn comes. He slays dragons with unnatural agility. He absorbs there soul's to increase his ability. This is how you will know the Dragonborn comes." My mother cradles me in her arms, incasing me in the warmth I've grown accustomed too. Humming softly under her breathe, I nuzzle against her neck. I begin to drift off to sleep, before I hear a second verse I didn't know existed.

"How will you know the Dragonborn's here? He will arrive at a time when Nords hearts are filled with fear. In the wake of a magic demise, the Dovahkiin will arise. He will vanquish the Priests that destroy the ages, finally killing those dark evil mages. Dragons will fall next, almost like a hex, before its Alduin's turn to fall. All the Dragonborn has to do is use the power of his call. Fus Ro Dah will ring through the world, and those black wings will no longer come unfurled. This is how you know when the Dragonborn comes."

The memory evaporates, plunging me back into my earthly body. I feel lightheaded, as though as I made a journey to Sovngarde and back. Maybe I had. Could there be a place within the afterlife that contains the memories of past lives? I would like to find that out, in this life or the next. There are a few things I would like to remember, even if my limited memories cannot recall it.

The man is still passed out on the floor, snoring away. I shake my head. He had drunken himself into unconsciousness. Did he really believe that his sorrows would be drowned by the simple sip of a bottle?

_That's what father thinks. _I remind myself hastily.

His flasks are scattered, like they had been left beforehand. Saadia makes a few rounds, removing the empty bottles and even the still filled ones to the back room. She understood that the man consumed one to many. Embry's eyes are staring at me like he thought I was drunk too. The ebony eyes reveal nothing, preventing me from comprehending what he was actually thinking. I break eye contact to stare at the table in front of me.

_I don't remember a second verse. Could I have possibly fallen asleep when my mother sang that? If so…how could I remember it? _I rub the back of my head, contemplating things._ It could be Sovngarde's work after all. _Something seems to click._ It's almost like a hint. But in any hint there are always clues. Clues to finding the lost Dovahkiin. Could I save my homeland after all? _

_So the Dragonborn comes when Alduin arises. That's the first clue. Alduin is here; he should be too. The Dragonborn will shout, releasing his hidden power from within. That in its self will be the reason Alduin falls. He'll slay Dragons and absorbs their souls. But the second verse hints to the impending doom we are to face. I mean, it clearly mentions the Dragon Priests. The Dovahkiin will come now, at a time when the Nords hearts are completely consumed in fear. The song said he will destroy the Priests, finally killing them despite their eternal curse. Then the Dragons will fall, and finally the King of Banes himself. The Dragonborn will finish him with a shout spoke in the dragon's own tongue. Most songs in Skyrim speak the truth, either with history or prediction, but all in all they tend to be true. Like Ragnar the Red; his story was true. That is something my mother believed in. And despite her intangible sense of imagination, she tends to believe in the truthful thing. My example being is Alduin and the Dragonborn. Both legends were born into the world the moment Alduin ravished Helgen's streets. Now my father believes in it. Too little too late. I have a tendency to listen to my mother more frequently than my father; and I have good reason too. Any father that spends his time getting drunk and not gives a care about his child is a jerk and ought to be cursed from entering Sovngarde just like those Dragon Priests. _

"Whatcha thinking Haaki?" Embry asks, swishing around the liquid that set idly in a tankard. Must be one of the drinks the man ordered.

"There might actually be another Dragonborn." I state plainly. He nearly spills the tankard at my response.

"You really believe this guy? Haaki, he's drunk!" He motions to him, "Look at him. He's on the floor for Talos's sake!"

"You said you wanted to get me something for my eighteenth birthday right?"

"Well yeah but don't-"

"Then buy me a carriage ride out of here."

His mouth opens in shock and the tankard fumbles out of his hand. It plops to the ground, spilling the essence it once contained.

"You can't leave! It's dangerous!" He tries to reason.

"Staying in Whiterun isn't any safer." I counter.

"Prove it." He retorts.

I begin rattling off instances that work in my favor, "A Dragon Priest got in anyway and killed Avenicci. The Dark Brotherhood killed Hulda and broke Mikael's arm twice. Three Priests murdered the Jarl of Solitude and a dragon gobbled up the Arch-Mage of Winterhold. The Thieves Guild ransacked the orphanage and the children haven't been seen since. Calcelmo awakened a Centurion out of curiosity in Markarth and now it's practically running the hold-"My friend silences me with a wave of his hand before I can even bother to mention Mara's temple burning or the prisoner escape from the infamous Cidna Mines.

"Alright alright, you're right," He resigns, "But what makes you think that there is an actual Dragonborn. And that we need to find him?"

"The Wheel has to turn Embry. On the last Dragonborn. There has to be a Dragonborn it can turn to. I'll give you one reason that we need to find him." I hold up my index finger.

"Then what is it?"

I jab my finger into his chest, "Do you wanna die tomorrow?"

"Of course not."

"We need the Dragonborn then. Because sooner or later, the next day will be our last."

"But Haaki, that's crazy."

"No it's logical. I'm the only smart one to see that."

"Haaki!" He whines, gripping the table with his hands. Before I can stop him, the surface ignites alongside his emotions. I've grown up around him long enough to know his magic sometimes mirrors his emotions. He removes his hands quickly from the charred surface, staring at his palms like they were foreign to them.

"Alright. We'll give this Dragonborn thing a try. But can we go to Winterhold first. I would hate to incinerate him when we find him." Embry agrees, trying to maneuver the bowls and plates to hide the marks from Ysolda's keen eye.

"You're coming with me?"

"Of course! We're best friend's man. And besides, I hate blacksmithing." He stands up, a grin plastered on his face.

I get up too, and walk to the door beside him.

"You'll have to pay for that table Embry Farseer!" Ysolda yells at us.

We burst out into the streets of Whiterun, laughing to our hearts content as we attempt to escape the wrath the innkeeper possesses. I've never had a birthday quite like this. It's turning out though to be the most interesting one yet.

**Review please!**

**-Soul Spirit-**


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